


Unlovable

by jane_x80



Series: Unlovable [1]
Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-05
Updated: 2015-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-05 01:18:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5355569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jane_x80/pseuds/jane_x80
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The aftermath of Jeanne Benoit's return in Saviors. Gibbs needs to help put Tony back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unlovable

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about Jeanne Benoit's return in S13 Saviors and how that's really got to mess with Tony's head. I think that the fic turned a little darker than I expected.

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs stands in his basement, trying to get lost in the usually hypnotic and comforting act of boat-building. But he is on edge, and he cannot focus on what his hands are doing. He finds that he is listening intently for telltale footsteps above – he can recognize his Senior Field Agent’s footsteps anywhere, as distinctive as the man himself, surprisingly light-treaded and graceful for someone of his height and muscular build. He’s been waiting all evening, but he doesn’t hear them.

He chugs his mug of cold coffee. He’s decided to forgo the bourbon tonight – he wants to be clear headed when Tony comes. He is ready to help him pick up the pieces again. But where is he?

Gibbs bites his lips, abandoning all pretense of working on the boat. Why hasn’t Tony come over yet? Although they have not made plans, Tony usually drags himself down to his basement after a particularly difficult case, or after personal turmoil. And in the past few days, Tony’s had a lot of both.

Gibbs sighs. He fully regrets his tone of voice when he stopped his team to look at Tony and say to him “Jeanne Benoit? Really?”

He knows that he poured salt on that particular wound by doing that. He needs to fix that. He needs Tony to come by so he can show the man that he cared. Although he had to be careful how much he showed or Tony might never drop by again. Or drop by one last time with a sexual harassment suit.

He begins pacing in the basement, looking up and straining his ears every time the house creaks, but still no Tony DiNozzo. He’s had far too much coffee to settle down now, and besides his gut is churning and Gibbs is not a man who ignores his gut. It has saved his life on more than one occasion.

He paces and pats his chest – now would not be a good time to get one of those chest pains slash panic attacks or whatever the hell they were. He doesn’t know how he knows it, but he knows that Tony needs him tonight.

Fuck it, he tells himself. There’s no rule that says that Tony has to always be the one to come to him. He can check in on his Senior Field Agent, his partner, his friend of fifteen years. Right? Even if it is after midnight. Especially the day that Tony returns from South Sudan after a harrowing mission to rescue the husband of the former love of his life, daughter of an international arms dealer, who’d thought he was someone else the entire time they were together. God, what a mess.

Besides, he hasn’t seen Tony in a few days and as much as it pains him to admit it to himself, he missed the man. He missed Tony’s quick wit, random movie quotes, quirky sense of humor, and beautiful smile. And his big, green eyes, so expressive at times but more often shuttered and masked, like the man himself. And seriously, if he’s going to be standing around admitting things to himself, let’s face it, he feels safer when Tony is watching his six, just his mere presence by his side is calming. He would never find a more steadfast, loyal, and competent second. Or a better looking one, either, for that matter.

God! Where is he? Gibbs stares at the ceiling of his basement, as if willing the younger man to arrive.

Finally, he throws his safety goggles and whatever random tool that was in his hand onto his workbench and runs upstairs to the kitchen. He pours himself a to go cup of coffee, gets his keys and drives at his usual reckless, vehicular-homicide inducing speed to Tony’s apartment building.

He knocks and knocks on Tony’s door but there is no answer. He cannot hear anything in the apartment, none of Tony’s usual ambient noise – TV or a movie on, or music, either him playing an instrument or his stereo. It is possible that Tony might be at Zoe’s place, although he somehow doubts that Tony could go from rescuing Jeanne’s husband to finding solace in Zoe’s arms. More probable was that he had gone to a bar and found himself a random hookup. And Tony never brings his random hookups home – he always goes to their place.

But something tells Gibbs that he should get into the apartment. He stares at the key on his key ring, the one that Tony placed in his hand so many years ago. A spare key to Tony’s apartment. He has had very little occasion to use it – Tony guards his privacy and his sanctuary jealously. He prefers to come to Gibbs’ with his unlocked front door and sit on his basement steps.

Taking a deep breath, Gibbs puts the key in the lock and turns it. The door opens quietly. None of the deadbolts have been thrown. It is pitch dark in the apartment. Maybe Tony really isn’t home.

Hesitantly, he steps in. “Tony,” he calls out softly, in case Tony is asleep. He flips the switch by the door and the living area lights up. He gasps in surprise when he sees Tony on his sofa, gun drawn and pointed at him.

“Tony,” he says softly. “It’s me. It’s Gibbs.”

Tony blinks, squinting. “Can you turn the light off? It’s too bright,” he says. He sounds almost normal.

Gibbs runs his eyes over his old friend, noting the bags under his eyes, the stubbled jaw, the rumpled clothes – jacket still on, and the glazed look in his eyes. Tony’s go bag is on the floor by his feet. Gibbs turns the light off and closes and locks the door, and waits until his eyes adjust to the relative darkness. City lights flood in through the big windows in Tony’s apartment.

“What are you doing sitting in the dark?” he asks gently.

He hears Tony’s clothes rustle, rather than see the shrug, but he can picture it. He’s seen that shrug countless times.

“McGee said you guys arrived at noon?” he walks to the sofa.

“Sounds about right.”

Gibbs changes his mind. Tony does not sound almost normal. He sounds flat and quiet – completely unlike his usual irrepressible self.

“Are you OK, Tony?”

The same rustle of clothes. Another shrug.

This is surprising, Tony normally answers that he’s fine to every serious question regarding his health, from getting the plague to being shot point blank in the chest. Now a paper cut was a different matter, a paper cut needed twelve band-aids, copious amounts of whining, and kisses from at least three beautiful women to recover from. Gibbs has become an expert at interpreting ‘fine’ to be anywhere from ‘just a scratch requiring ten stitches’ to ‘hurts like a bitch’ to ‘I’m dying’. But this quiet, non-verbal Tony is new.

“Tony? Can you give me your gun?” Gibbs approaches him carefully, unsure and unable to predict what Tony might do.

“Why?” Yep. He’s definitely out of it.

“I want to put it away in your gun safe.”

“Oh. ‘Kay.”

Gibbs carefully takes the Sig out of Tony’s hand and puts the safety back on. “Can I have your backup weapon too?”

Wordlessly, Tony pulls his other gun from his ankle holster and hands it to Gibbs, handle first.

“Thanks, Tony,” Gibbs says quietly, and locks both weapons in the gun safe in Tony’s shelf. “Have you been sitting there all day?”

More clothing rustle. Another shrug. Gibbs sighs. The situation seems to be worse than he thought. He should have come much earlier.

He goes in the kitchen, flips the lights on and fills a glass with water. He turns the light off, and waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness again before bringing it to the sofa and handing it to Tony. “Drink this,” he tells him.

Tony sighs and slowly takes the glass thrust towards him.

“Drink it,” Gibbs orders him.

“Yes, Boss,” Tony says quietly, and begins sipping it, his movements jerky and not filled with his usual easy grace.

“Why didn’t you come to me?” Gibbs asks him.

“I meant to,” comes the wooden reply. “I was going to shower, nap, eat something then head over to your place. Wanted to make sure you were OK – hated to leave you in the hospital to go off on some stupid mission.”

“Did you get to the shower? Or any of the other stuff?”

“I sat down when I got home. I guess I got as far as the sofa.”

“You haven’t gotten up off your couch in over twelve hours?”

Shrug.

In the darkness, Tony’s eyes seem huge in his face – his irises a startlingly pale color. His body is an interesting play of light and shadows. He looks more vulnerable than Gibbs has ever seen him.

“Let’s get your jacket off,” Gibbs says and reaches to help the younger man.

Surprisingly, Tony flinches away from his touch, spilling his glass of water on himself but making no move to acknowledge it or try to clean it up.

“OK. You can keep your jacket,” Gibbs says. He realizes that he is now speaking to Tony as if he is a traumatized child. “You’ve had a hard couple of days, haven’t you?”

Tony nods once. Slowly. Gibbs can hear his breath hitching.

“Wanna talk about it?”

Shrug.

“So, Jeanne Benoit, huh?” he continues. “That must have been quite the surprise.”

Shrug.

“How was she on the mission?”

“Level headed. Cool.” Tony’s eyes close and he takes a deep breath. “Found her husband.”

“And you? How were you?”

“I was me.”

“Were you DiNozzo or DiNardo?”

Tony makes a noise. Is that a hysterical giggle or a stifled sob? Gibbs cannot tell. “I’m not sure,” came the pained admission. “Sometimes I don’t really know the difference between the two.”

“No?”

“DiNardo is made up of all the best things about me. Jeanne was lucky. That she got to be with DiNardo. And not me.”

“Is that so?”

“He’s a nice guy. You’d like him, Boss.”

“I’m sure I would.”

“But in the end she made me choose. Who I should be. Who _should_ I be? Go with her and be DiNardo forever, or stay with you and be stupid fucking DiNozzo forever.”

“Why did you stay with me?”

Another stifled sob? Or hysterical giggle? “I can’t leave you, Boss. And, DiNardo doesn’t really exist,” he says softly. “Except, I think the reason why it hurt so much to give Jeanne up is because DiNardo is closest to who I think I am, who Anthony is, than anything else I’ve ever come up with. DiNardo is everything I ever wanted to be. I made him and hid him away a long, long time ago, too scared to let him out – way before I ever met you even. And when Jenny gave me the op, he seemed to be the perfect guy for Jeanne. I really liked being DiNardo for real. But I only got to be him for a year. He was a really neat guy. He’s someone women fall in love with. He’s someone people want to be with. Not like me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nobody loves me.”

“That’s bullshit. We all love you Tony.”

Tony gives him the most scornful look he’s ever received, worse even than the all the looks of all three ex-wives put together. “Nobody loves me, Boss. Nobody I love ever loves me back. Not the way I wish they would. Not Jeanne. Not Ziva. Not my mom. Not my dad. Not Wendy. Not y… Not anybody.” He sighs.

“We love you Tony. I do. Abby does. Ducky. Palmer. McGee. Bishop.”

“You tolerate me. All of you. You don’t love me like I love you.”

“How can you say that?”

Another scornful look followed by a quiet sigh. “You should go, Boss. I’m not good company right now. I’ll be at work in the morning.”

“Vance gave us tomorrow off.”

“Then I’ll be in the day after.”

“I don’t think you should be alone right now, Tony.”

“I’ve never been anything but alone. It’s not anything new to me.”

“You shouldn’t be alone right now,” Gibbs repeats himself. “You’re not yourself.”

Tony’s glare is palpable. “Since when do you care anyway?” his quiet anger makes Gibbs flinch.

“I’ve always cared.”

Snort. “You only care if I mess up.”

“Not true.”

Tony turns his head away, his disbelief hitting Gibbs like a slap in the face. “Name one time that you complimented me without either taking it back a second later, or it being sarcastic?”

“That’s not true,” Gibbs whispers. To his horror, he sees Tony’s bottom lip starting to tremble and his eyes shine with unshed tears. Tony bites his lip and turns his face away.

“Please leave me alone, Gibbs,” he chokes out. “I don’t want to say things that I can’t take back.”

“Tony,” Gibbs reaches out and gingerly touches Tony’s hand, happy that he doesn’t flinch again. “Talk to me.”

“Got nothing to say.”

“You need to talk about this. Get this out.”

In a surprising move, Tony hurls the glass in his hand across the room, smashing it against the wall. The sound is deafening in the quiet apartment. Gibbs’ heart pounds in his chest.

“Did that help?” he asks quietly, watching as Tony’s face moves into the light. His eyes are still shining, pupils swimming in unshed tears. “Did breaking the glass make you feel better?”

“That’s me,” Tony whispers.

“What do you mean?”

“Broken. Shattered.”

“No, Tony. No you’re not.”

“So tired of it all…” the admission frightens Gibbs more than anything else Tony has ever done – not the plague, not the exploding cars, not the kidnapping by serial killers. After everything else he usually bounces back with his usual verve and fire. Now he truly sounds exhausted, like he has already given up. “Always alone. That’s me. All my life. Even when I was a kid. How long can a person exist alone? Sometimes I don’t know how I’m still even here. Sometimes I need the headslaps to remind me I’m here and I exist. That I’m real.”

“You’re not alone, Tony.”

“You ever look at yourself in the mirror and think, who is that person in there?” he continues softly, ignoring Gibbs’ words.

“Tony, listen to me.”

“If DiNardo’s not real and DiNozzo doesn’t really exist, then who am I and why am I still here?”

“Tony!”

“How can I ache to have something I’ve never had?” Tony speaks as if he is alone, trying to work things out in his head.

“Tony?”

Quiet sigh. “Don’t know why I’m unlovable. Maybe if I’d made DiNardo when I was a baby, my parents would have loved me. But DiNardo has loving parents. I don’t. Maybe that’s why he’s loved and I’m not.”

“Tony, you’re not unlovable.”

The return of the scornful look and the disbelieving snort. Gibbs thinks it’s an improvement over the quiet desolation and speaking to himself.

“I love you, Tony. I do.” Suddenly he is desperate to make Tony believe it, this emotion that he has hidden away from Tony so carefully, all of these years.

Snort. “Not like I love you, Boss,” the pain in Tony’s voice is unbearable.

“How do you think I love you?”

“Like I’m a pet. An appendage. A toy. An extension of your will.”

Gibbs closes his eyes. Did Tony really think that about how he felt about him? Has he been too stingy with his affections because he doesn’t want Tony to find out the truth?

“An idiot to be led around by the nose. A barely housebroken dog.”

“No, Tony. That’s not how I feel about you at all.”

Tony looks at him, his big green eyes filled with pain. “No?”

“No, Tony.”

Shrug. “Coulda fooled me.”

“No. I love you like…” Gibbs cannot finish his sentence. He is breathing hard, as if he has just run a race.

“Like a _son_?” Tony’s voice is dripping with disgust. “I’d rather be a toy. At least you play with your toys.”

“No, Tony. Not like a son.”

“What else is left then? You _don’t_ love me like I love you.”

“How do you love me then, Tony? If you’re so sure that I don’t love you like you love me.”

“I knew you were cruel, Boss. But I didn’t know how cruel.”

“What are you talking about?”

“This is like Ziva cruel, Boss. I gave everything to her – my heart, my body, my love, my devotion – and in the end she sent me away. Which is a perfectly valid option. But she told me she loved me and that I was loved. And then I left. Alone. Always alone. But she said she _loved_ me. _She_ loved _me_. She _loved_ me? If she’d loved me she wouldn’t have let me leave alone. She would have come with me. Or she would have asked me to stay. Because I would have. In a heartbeat. But she never asked me to stay and she didn’t want to leave with me. But she _said_ she _loved_ me. The fuck does that even mean?” Tony blinks and the tears spill down his cheeks. “After Jeanne accused me of murdering her father, of all people, Ziva told me to man up and tell her what she needed to hear. So I lied to Jeanne and told her I felt nothing for her. I broke her heart. I broke my own heart, too. But I did it to not be cruel. Too bad Ziva didn’t feel any qualms about fucking with my heart.”

“But how does that make me cruel, like Ziva?”

“Stop telling me you love me. Because you don’t.”

“But I do.”

“God, I thought that I was hurting when I got home, and that I couldn’t possibly hurt any worse. But apparently I can. I don’t know what you want with me, Boss. I can’t play this game with you. Not with you. I can’t have you be just like the rest of them. Like the people who say they love me and then throw me away. You’re supposed to be my constant. My touchstone. If you did this to me again, there would be nothing left of me.”

“Tony, what can I do to help you? How can I fix this?”

“I can’t be fixed, Boss. You should just go.”

“I can’t – not when you’re like this.”

“If you tell me you love me one more time, I swear I’ll eat my gun.”

“Don’t even say that!” the move is automatic, and Gibbs delivers a headslap.

Amazingly, Tony shudders and sighs. His lips begin trembling again. “Thank you, Boss,” the whispered response is surprisingly normal.

They sit in silence for a few minutes.

Gibbs takes a deep breath. He wants to know the answer. “You never answered my question.”

“What was the question?” Tony’s back to sounding wooden and flat again.

“How do you love me?”

Tony sighs. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters. How you feel matters.”

Disbelieving snort.

“It’s important to me. Tell me,” Gibbs’ quiet words seem to seep into Tony’s brain.

The younger man stares at Gibbs, not bothering to hide the pain and the longing. “I love you hopelessly. Desperately. Painfully. More than I’ve ever loved anyone else in my life. More than I’ll ever love anyone in my life. More than I love myself.” Gibbs’ heart sings even as it breaks for the pain that Tony is in. “I’d do anything for you, Boss.”

Tony closes his eyes and looks away, biting his lip. Then a mask falls and his expression becomes carefully blank. He turns back to Gibbs. “You can expect my resignation letter tomorrow.”

“No!” Gibbs grabs Tony’s hand. “You can’t leave me.”

“I’m just making it easy for you. You don’t even have to make the effort to throw me away. I’ll do it for you. I’m good at making things easy for everyone,” Tony turns his head away. He wonders if he will survive a shattered heart. He doesn’t really care at this point.

“No!” Gibbs cups Tony’s cheek and forces him to turn towards him. “I don’t want you to throw yourself away. I don’t want to throw you away. I can’t believe you think I think so little of you.”

Tony’s eyes fill with tears again. “Don’t, Boss,” he whispers harshly. “You know I can’t stay now. I overstayed my welcome years ago. I was selfish to stay. Just couldn’t let you go.”

“No, Tony…” Gibbs tries to make himself speak, to lay himself out in the open the way Tony has. But Tony didn’t name him a functional mute for no reason all those years ago. And suddenly, he can’t breathe, and the sharp pains are in his chest again. He grabs Tony’s shirt and begins panting, trying to catch his breath, still the pain, every heartbeat like a knife in his chest.

“Boss?” Tony is immediately concerned. He undoes the top buttons of Gibbs’ shirt and gently makes him lean back against the sofa. “Should I call Taft, Boss?”

Gibbs shakes his head, gasping.

Tony jumps up, almost falling right over – he has been sitting unmoving for hours, his legs are asleep – and limps into the kitchen, getting a glass, filling it with water and bringing it back as quickly as he can.

“Drink this, Boss,” his voice is steady, calm as he cradles Gibbs in his arms and helps him sip from the glass. “You know, if you have a heart attack on my sofa tonight, my resignation will definitely be a moot point, right?”

Feeling those strong arms around him, Gibbs immediately relaxes and slowly the pain eases. Gibbs’ breathing evens out and he closes his eyes, reveling in being surrounded by Tony. Tony is leaning against the arm of the sofa, and Gibbs is curled up and held against Tony’s chest, both arms around the older man, rubbing his back and arms soothingly. His body is settled between Tony’s legs, one long leg curled securely around him as well.

Finally he moves his head, looking up. Tony’s face is turned down to him, big green eyes full of concern and worry. “You OK now, Boss?” Tony’s voice is so filled with concern, his own pain completely forgotten that Gibbs has to close his eyes and put his hands over Tony’s arms, gently rubbing them. “Abby said that you were given a clean bill of health. What gives, Boss? You better not be hiding some sickness. I won’t stand for that. I won’t let you hide something serious from me, Boss.”

Gibbs sighs. “I’m fine. Physically.”

Tony is silent. “Something else then. PTSD?” he asks so gently that Gibbs feels his eyes fill with tears. Tony loves him. Every move he’s ever made is proof of it. Every word he’s ever said. And he had been too blind to see it. Too blind to everything but his determination to hide his own feelings.

Gibbs shrugs. “Dunno. Maybe.”

“What can we do to help you?”

“This is nice,” he blurts out.

Tony draws his head back, although he keeps his arms around Gibbs. “What?”

“I-I like this,” Gibbs admits. “Calming.”

Those big green eyes of his – filled with shock and disbelief. “Maybe I should call Taft,” he mutters softly.

“No,” Gibbs insists. “Taft thinks I need talk therapy.”

Tony can’t help it. The laugh bubbles from his throat, rumbling in his chest, reverberating in Gibbs’ ear so comfortably and soothingly held against it. “He wants _you_ to talk about stuff? He’s a surgeon. He can cut shit out of you, but he can’t make you talk if you don’t want to. Maybe I should have a talk with him,” Tony’s arm tightens around Gibbs and he leans his chin on Gibbs’ head, rocking soothingly. “So am I driving you to talk therapy now, Boss?”

“No shrinks.”

Tony sighs. “You gotta talk to someone.”

“Told Taft I’d talk to him.”

“OK, then I’ll drive you to Taft whenever you need to go.”

“I can drive myself.”

“Sure you can,” Tony snorts. “You’ll find some reason not to go and we’ll be calling 9-1-1 on you again in a couple of days.”

“I need to tell you something. Set the record straight.”

“OK.”

“Are you listening?”

“I’m listening, Boss.”

“Never want to throw you away, Tony. Never. You could never outstay your welcome. You’re always welcome. In my house. In my life. I-in my arms,” Gibbs sits up, twisting in Tony’s embrace, putting one arm around his back and one hand to the back of his head, the site of countless headslaps, his fingers gently petting the soft hair.

“What?” those big green eyes filled with confusion and worry.

“I know why I’m having these attacks,” Gibbs finally says.

“Tell me why. Maybe we can stop it if we know your triggers.”

Gibbs looks at the concern and determination in that beloved face. High cheekbones, strong jaw, full shapely lips, did he mention the big green eyes? Almost too pretty for his own good, but with a backbone lined with hidden steel.

“You’re the trigger,” Gibbs says quietly.

“What?” Confusion and concern. Worry. Panic.

“No, not like that, Tony,” Gibbs says. He begins speaking, slowly, hesitantly. As if these words are the hardest things he has ever had to say. “When Jeanne came back, and I knew you had to go to Sudan with her to rescue her husband, I was…I was so worried. For you. I know how you turned yourself inside out for her, and how bad it was after she left. I saw you hide yourself away for so long and you let Ziva and Tim walk all over you and I kept waiting for you to snap out of it but it took so long. I know how much you loved Jeanne. You, DiNozzo, DiNardo. They’re all you, Tony. That’s why you’re so good at undercover ops, you use that piece of you that most relates to who you need to be, and you play up that part of you. That’s why you’re always so believable – you’re still always you no matter who you’re pretending to be. You’re not pretending to be someone else, you _are_ someone else, except that someone else is another facet of you. And afterwards you hide that piece away and you pretend like it never existed. But after Jeanne, you hid everything but the masks away. She broke your heart. She broke a big piece of you.”

Tony gasps and tries to back away, but Gibbs arms hold him in place.

“I was worried that she would break you again, Tony. I didn’t know how to protect you from this hurt and I-I needed to find a way. And then…” he breaks off, swallowing painfully.

“Then you’re in the hospital with chest pains?”

Gibbs quirks an eyebrow and makes a moue of discontent.

“Huh,” Tony says softly, thoughtfully.

“What?”

His big green eyes – was that amusement in them? “This is possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. Ever.”

“Get PTSD for you?”

Suddenly they are both laughing and it feels good.

“I need to say this. Don’t eat your gun,” Gibbs says.

Suddenly Tony is silent, his eyes wide and solemn. Gibbs never speaks like this, not to him, so he listens intently. He listens with his entire being.

“I love you. Not like a friend. Not like a son. Not like a toy. Not like an appendage. I love _you_. Like I love Shannon.”

Tony stops breathing, one hand to his mouth. He shakes his head in denial.

“I do. You’re the best thing in my life. You have been since we met in Baltimore.”

“B-but how can that be?”

“You’re so easy to love, Tony.”

“B-but…”

“All of those people who hurt you, me included, we’re deaf, dumb, blind, and stupid. For hurting you like that. For not seeing who you are and what a gift you are.”

“What? I-is this a joke?” the whispered question, eyes filled with pain and a spark of hope.

“Not a joke. I love you. Too scared to tell you. Too worried I don’t deserve you.”

“B-but…” Tony cannot grasp what Gibbs is saying.

Gibbs turns his whole body, sliding his legs up the sofa and placing them on either side of Tony’s body. He leans in and gently presses his lips against Tony’s. Tony’s eyes close as Gibbs nibbles on his bottom lip, sucks it in gently, and gently licks, requesting access. Gibbs’ fingers have worked themselves under Tony’s shirt, rubbing gentle circles on the small of his back, on his bare skin, and the other hand is tangled in his hair, tugging gently, angling his head as his lips move along his jaw, kissing, tasting, nipping, down his neck.

Tony moans, arching his neck, silently begging for more. Gibbs pulls his head back and claims his lips again – this time Tony opens up immediately and the kiss turns fierce, possessive, all tongue, teeth and lips. Tony finds himself kissing back desperately, hopelessly, painfully.

When they pull apart, breathless, they gaze into each other’s eyes. Tony sees love in the intense blue eyes, and reassurance, and desire. Gibbs can see the need and love in Tony’s eyes, but he also sees that the younger man is exhausted and drained. He has had a trying few days.

“Come on,” he says, “you smell. Let’s get you clean, get some food in you, and get you to bed.”

Tony sighs. “I don’t have the energy.”

“I’ll run a bath for you. Come on.” Gibbs steals one last kiss.

Tony finds himself herded to his bathroom, vaguely hears the sound of water running and his body efficiently stripped of clothes. He is gently helped into the tub, leans back and closes his eyes, letting the hot water soothe his sore, exhausted muscles.

Gibbs leaves him to bathe and returns to the living room, flipping the lights on finally. He cleans up the broken glass and wipes up the water, and looks in Tony’s fridge and cupboards. In the freezer he finds individual containers labelled with Tony’s writing. Tony has frozen individual meals, enough for at least a couple of weeks. Gibbs wonders when Tony started doing this, moving away from subsisting entirely on pizza and takeout Chinese food? And why did he not notice this about Tony?

He pulls out two containers of what is labelled cream of chicken soup and warms it in the microwave. He doubts that Tony will have the energy to eat too much. He finds bread in the freezer and makes toast with butter. Then he checks in on Tony.

The younger man is fast asleep in the bathtub, head pillowed on a folded towel, one arm and one leg draped wantonly over the side of the tub, water cooling rapidly. He doesn’t look any cleaner than when Gibbs put him in the tub.

Gibbs wakes him gently, and begins washing him, starting with shampooing his hair – massaging his scalp and pouring warm clean water from a cup in the sink, rinsing out the suds. Then he puts Tony’s expensive body wash on his butter-soft who-knows-how-expensive washcloth and rubs it all over Tony’s body. The younger man sits, still half-asleep, quietly enjoying the gentle ministrations, smiling whenever Gibbs looks at his face. When Gibbs washes his inner thighs, his cock stands at attention, and Gibbs grins to see the blush rising in Tony’s face. He carefully washes Tony’s bobbing cock, and his balls, and smiles, hearing Tony’s stifled moans. There might have been some gratuitous stroking in the name of getting Tony all clean, of course.

Finally, Tony is helped out of the tub, rubbed dry and helped into a pair of boxers before being ushered to the kitchen. Gibbs urges the younger man to eat, and they both dig into Tony’s lovely homemade soup. Afterwards, Tony brushes his teeth and uses the head and finds himself being tucked into bed. He holds the blanket open.

“Stay?” he asks softly.

Gibbs nods and sheds his shirt and jeans, climbing into bed wearing only a t-shirt and boxers. Gibbs fits his body behind Tony’s, spooning him, working an arm under Tony’s head and putting his other arm around Tony’s chest, holding him close.

“I’m finding it hard to believe that you love me,” Tony whispers.

“I’ll keep showing you how I feel,” Gibbs tells him, running his hand up and down Tony’s side and flank.

“OK.”

Gibbs drops gentle kisses on the back of Tony’s neck, and Tony arches into him, moaning softly.

“Go to sleep, beautiful. I’ll be here when you wake up. You’re exhausted.”

Tony hums, his eyelids heavy. He puts his arm over the one Gibbs has around him and laces their fingers, sighing.

“Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“What did you mean by ‘again’?”

“What?”

“Earlier, you said you couldn’t bear for me to do this to you again. What do you mean by ‘again’?”

Tony sighs. “Just forget about it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Stop telling me that what you think or say doesn’t matter. When did I throw you away that I could do it again?”

Silence for several breaths. “When you retired to Mexico,” Tony finally whispers.

“That was so many years ago!”

“I know.”

“And I’d lost my memories.”

“I know.”

“And all I could think of was that I’d lost Shannon and Kelly.”

“I _know_.” Tony sighs and begins chewing on his lips. “It wasn’t your fault. I told you it didn’t matter.”

Gibbs pulls him closer. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For throwing you away then. And for hurting you now.”

Tony’s breath hitches, and he pulls Gibbs hand up and kisses it. “It’s OK. Nothing to be sorry about.”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

“You already have,” Gibbs can hear the smile in Tony’s voice.

“You’re way too forgiving.”

“Didn’t forgive Daniel Budd,” Tony said grimly.

“Oh Tony,” Gibbs kisses his shoulder. “You didn’t have to kill him.”

“Yes I did,” Tony is firm. “He used a kid to hurt you. I almost lost you. I didn’t have your six.”

“Yes you did.”

“I was distracted and too far from you.”

“Tony.”

“It’s true. I made a mess.”

“It wasn’t a mess, and you cleaned it up anyways.”

“I’d shoot him again,” Tony’s ferocity scares Gibbs. “Fucking wanna-be Bond villain.”

“Don’t become me. Revenge doesn’t really solve anything.”

“It felt pretty good, Boss. It was a good shooting.”

“How about you don’t call me Boss when we’re in bed?”

Tony chuckles. “Jethro?”

“Better.”

Tony wriggles himself more securely in Gibbs’ arms. “Thanks for coming over tonight, Jethro,” he yawns.

“I was worried about you.”

Another sleepy kiss on Gibbs hand and a quiet hum. Tony’s on the cusp of falling into a deep sleep.

“Tony?”

“Hmm?”

“Do you still love her?”

“Who?”

“Jeanne?”

Tony turns his head and looks into Gibbs’ blue eyes. “No, I don’t think so,” he says quietly. “I loved her once. And it hurts to see her again – mostly because it reminds me of how I used her even though I loved her and then I let her and Jenny throw me away like I didn’t matter. But I don’t love her anymore.”

Gibbs nods and they kiss.

“I don’t love Ziva anymore either,” Tony continues as he sighs and relaxes back into Gibbs’ arms. “She hurt me more than Jeanne did, in the end. She was cruel. I guess she always was.” He sighs.

“Would you ever get over loving me, do you think?”

Tony turns onto his back and puts his arms around Gibbs. “Never. You were the one before all the others. I just never thought I could actually have you. I stayed this long to be with you, as your Senior Field Agent. Even when I thought you treated me like an unwanted stray cat, I couldn’t bring myself to go. Or get over you.”

“I’m sorry I ever made you feel unwanted and unloved.”

“I know. It’s OK. It’s already forgotten. I’m just saying I’ll never get over you. You’ll get tired of me first.”

“Never,” Gibbs says, and his word is a promise.

Lips meet, gentle, loving kisses, nibbles, sighs. Tony yawns. “Now can I go to sleep?” he teases. They settle back down, Gibbs spooning Tony, one arm under his head, the other around his body, Tony’s arm over his, other arm angled so the fingers of both his hands are interlaced with Gibbs’.

“I love you Tony.”

“Love you Jethro.”

Tony falls asleep almost immediately, and Gibbs stays awake, holding him, pressing gentle kisses to the back of his neck and his shoulders, and nuzzling into his hair, breathing in the scent of body wash and that clean, masculine smell that is Tony and has been since he’s known him. Tony moans softly in his sleep when Gibbs does this, and he loves how responsive Tony is, even asleep. He can only imagine what it would be like when he makes love to the younger man. Which he fully intends to do after Tony has gotten some rest.

Tony loves him! He smiles, rubbing his erection against the younger man’s firm ass. Tony wriggles even closer to him, sighing in his sleep. Frown lines smoothed out, Tony looks as young as he had been when they first met. Gibbs sighs, wondering how many of the lines on that face have been caused by him.

Tony called him cruel, and he knows that he has been cruel. Withholding general affection that he freely gave to his other team members, being even harder on Tony, expecting even more out of him than out of anybody else. And all this time, Tony did as he was bid, and swallowed his own pains and hurts without complaint.

Gibbs vows, Tony won’t ever doubt him again, won’t ever be made to feel alone again. Tony is his, and he takes care of what’s his.

He smiles, closes his eyes, and goes to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been listening to [Please Don't Tell Her](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HCgCmB0QsL4) by Jason Mraz and it seems like the perfect song to describe how Tony feels about Ziva and how things ended with her.
> 
> Started a second chapter of this but I don't know. I might be done with this story.
> 
> A/N: Edited to make this the first of a series. Wanted this work to stand on its own (18 Dec 2015)


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